The Owens Curse
by Mandy of the Amoeba
Summary: Practical Magic fanfic. Ugh, I hate the title, but it's all I've got. In the movie, Frances mentions "her poor Ethan." Well, here's a little story centered around the time he died.
1. Default Chapter

A/N: So far I've only found one Practical Magic fanfic on all of ff.n. So, I decided to write my own. If anyone else out there loves this movie, write fanfic for it! I get tired of reading my own creations. *g*   
  
This story takes place before Gillian and Sally are born; even before their mother is born, as a matter of fact. So I'd say that puts the date around 1950; Frances and Jet are still young. Yes, I know that they're technically in their early 100's and just look to be in their fifties, but I wanted them to be young-looking 70 year olds when the movie takes place. So sue me. You won't get much if you do. Forgive me if parts of this don't make sense; it was written very early in the morning. If any of you care to know, I had a very hard time deciding on who was the older sister. If you disagree with my decision, let me know and tell me why....I'm still straddling the fence and there's a distinct possibility I could go back and change it around. I may think about continuing this in another chapter if I get three legitimate reviews that want me to. Yes, I'm just asking for three reviews. I don't think more than four people are going to read this......  
  
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Frances stared with red-rimmed eyes out the window of the tiny house she shared with her husband. Rather, the house she used to share with her husband. Less than half an hour ago, she had stood on the pier and watched, horrified, as Ethan's fishing boat went down under the angry waves of the Atlantic, consumed in flames. She had known it would happen. The beetle had been ticking ever since her husband of two months had left out on his boat that morning. There was no way to reach him, no way to warn him. All day long, she had waited by the pier, hoping she could save him even though she knew in her heart that it was impossible. And then his boat caught fire and sank before her very eyes, not a mile away from shore.  
  
Of course a rescue crew was sent out immediatly, but Fran knew it was of no use. He was gone. The beetle silenced moments after the boat disappeared under the water. Numbed, she turned and went home, ignoring the cold rain that was beginning to fall and the people that whispered as she passed. She didn't have to hear their words to know what they were saying. It was the curse of the Owens women. Any man who loved one of them was doomed to die.  
  
They weren't even entirely finished unpacking. Half of Fran's things were still at the large Victorian house she'd grown up in -- the house she knew she'd be returning to shortly. Alone in the barely-furnished kitchen, she watched the raindrops sliding down the windowpane and saw her own face reflected in the glass. It was hard to tell if she was really crying, or if the reflection was just becoming one with the rain. A few seconds later, a salty drop hit the bare wooden table she was sitting at; it definately was not the rain. Fran sighed, looking down at where the tear had hit the table's surface. She had known all along, of course. It was foolish for an Owens woman to fall in love. But she had fallen just the same, hoping that somehow things would be different with her and Ethan.  
  
Silently, a hand was laid on her shoulder, interrupting her thoughts. The touch didn't startle her; she had sensed her sister was on her way over. With a shuddering sigh, Fran reached her hand up to grasp Jet's tightly. The older woman knelt down by the kitchen chair without removing her hand, resting her head on her younger sister's knee. They stayed like that for a long moment before Jet said softly, "I came as soon as I knew."  
  
Never taking her eyes off the window, Fran nodded silently, biting her lip to stop it from trembling. She gently twined the fingers of her free hand through her sister's long, sand-brown curls, as if the hair would anchor her to reality. Nothing seemed real anymore; she wasn't even sure if she wanted anything to be. Neither of the women spoke as they sat there together.   
  
Nearby, rescuers were beginning to come back to shore after searching the sea surrounding Ethan's little fishing boat, shaking their heads as the last burning bits of debris smoldered in the water. The storm outside began to pick up it's pace, as did the gossip in William's General Store and various sitting rooms throughout the town. Women clicked their tongues in artificial sympathy and talked of how it was bound to happen sooner or later; poor Ethan had the misfortune to fall for an Owens woman. Men took off their caps and scratched their heads, unwilling to give in entirely to "women's talk" but unable to keep themselves from muttering their own opinions on the matter. Children just listened , whispering to themselves now and then, as the seeds of mistrust for the Owens family were planted more firmly in their little minds. "_Witches, all of them......never married to a man more than five years...that's why they always keep their maiden names, to pass to their children......like black widows....._" The children heard all of this, and every one of them believed.  
  
But Frances and Bridget Owens didn't hear. They were shut off in Fran's one-bedroom house with only each other and the pounding rain for company. It wouldn't have done them any good if they had been able to hear the whisperings; they couldn't defend themselves. Owens women had been persecuted for two hundred and fifty years because they had a gift. The fact that all their lovers ended up dead didn't help, either. And it was true that they kept their maiden names to pass on to their daughters; no Owens woman had ever borne a son, so that was the only way the family heritage remained. Most of the time, they wore their name proudly because of the powers it brought to mind. Today, Frances Owens cursed it in her heart.  
  
As though reading her thoughts, Jet raised her head from her sister's lap to look at her face. "Everything will be all right, Franny." she said gently; her sweet, almost girlish voice brought Frances out of her trance, and she looked down at the heart-shaped, upturned face. Her own features began to crumple, and she buried her face in her arms on the table, giving in to grief. Jet stood up, gently placing a hand on her sister's back and rubbing lightly.  
  
"Come on, Franny. Let's go home."  
  
  



	2. Homecoming

Morning June sunlight filtered into the kitchen of the Victorian house that had been home to the Owens women for generations.  Inside, Jet Owens wiped her sugar-dusted hands off on a towel, not realizing that her cheek was also smeared with the white powder. She stood back, admiring her work. She had been up for a few hours, baking while her sister slept. Satisfied with the end result, she placed a steaming cup of raspberry tea on the tray beside her baking, then picked the ensemble up and carried it towards the downstairs bedroom where her sister was.  
  
Although the rest of the house was light, the drapes in the spare bedroom were drawn, leaving it in shadows. Jet didn't bother to knock; even if she had wanted to, her hands were full.  "Franny?" she called softly to the blanketed lump in bed that was her sister.  There was no answer.  There hadn't been much of one for almost a week.  Fran hadn't left the bedroom in that amount of time, except to attend Ethan's funeral and go to the adjoining bathroom.    
  
Taking a few more tentative steps into the room, Jet placed the breakfast tray on the bedside table.  "I made cream puffs.....your favorite....." she ventured, a slightly cajoling note in her voice.  Still nothing.  With a sigh, Jet crossed to the East window and pulled the drapes open, letting sunlight burst through.  A muffled groan came from under the covers, and the figure underneath curled up tighter.  
  
"Come on, honey...." the older witch pleaded, sitting down on the edge of Fran's bed.  "You can't stay in here forever."  She paused, then asked hopefully, "Will you at least eat the cream puffs?  You've barely had anything except toast all week.  I brought you some raspberry tea, too." she added as an afterthought.  The covers moved down slightly, revealing a pale face framed with messy brown hair.  
  
"I'm just not hungry, Jetta."  Fran answered tiredly, rubbing at her eyes with one fist.  
  
_'Well, she's talking....that's a start._' Jet thought to herself, reaching a hand out to smooth stray strands of hair from her sister's face.  "Please try them, Franny...you'll hurt my feelings if you don't!"  she teased aloud, smiling gently.  Sighing in acceptance, Fran snaked one arm out from under the covers to grab a cream puff off the tray.  
  
"These are good." she announced a few moments later, sounding a little bit surprised.  Jet smiled encouragingly.  
  
"See there?  You'd better sit up and drink your tea before it gets cold." she persisted, scooting the tray a little closer to the bed.  Nodding slightly, Fran reached for the teacup and took a small sip before looking down into the cup, shaking her head.  
  
"I just feel empty, Jet." she admitted, her eyes still focused on the steaming tea.  Her sister nodded, the smile fading from her lips.  "I just.....I knew, you know?"  Fran's voice wavered slightly, but she swallowed hard and kept talking.  "I knew I shouldn't love him, I knew it would turn out the way it always has.....I just wasn't prepared for it to be so soon."  
  
"I know."  Jet said after a moment, taking the teacup out of her sister's hands and setting it on the tray again.  Fran looked at her a moment, then started to chuckle lightly through her tears.  "What?" Jet asked blankly, half afraid that her sister had lost her mind.  
  
Fran hesitated a moment before saying, "Jet....you didn't put any sugar in the tea."  
  
For a moment, they both just looked at one another, then both burst out laughing.  The situation wasn't even that funny....but they both needed a good laugh.  They cackled together for what seemed like several minutes before the laughter ran out.  Jet had moved so that she was lying in the empty space beside her sister, looking up at the ceiling.    
  
After a long minute of silence, Jet asked suddenly, "Do you remember Papa?"  She reached for the cream puffs as she asked the question, taking one for herself and handing the other to Fran.    
  
"A little."   The answer came after some thought, as if she had to dig through a lot of memories to find one of their father.  "I remember the picture of him Mother used to keep on the mantle piece And I remember he used to toss me up in the air and catch me again."  
  
"He used to carry you in his arms and me on his shoulders." Jet commented idly, looking at the center of the cream puff she had bitten.  She paused a moment before adding quietly, "I wish you could remember more of him."  
  
Fran nodded slightly, eating the last bite of her own cream puff and looking up at the ceiling.  "Well, we're here because of him.  At least he lasted that long." she said quietly.  There was a slight tinge of bitterness in her voice, but there wasn't any sarcasm to it.  She laughed slightly and propped herself up on one elbow.   "I guess it's up to you to carry on the family heritage." she joked a little sadly.  
  
Jet propped up as well, facing her sister, and she shook her head slowly.  Fran frowned slightly, then raised one eyebrow in suspicion.  "Bridget Owens, what is it you know that I don't?"  she demanded.  Jet just shook her head again, smiling slightly.  
  
"Nothing, dear.  You'll know in time." she answered.  Fran rolled her eyes.  
  
"Oh, Jet, stop with the whole mystical psychic thing, you know I hate it when you do that and won't tell me what you know."  Fran complained.    
  
"Now's not the time, dear."    
  
"Jet, I am not in the mood to play games.  Whatever you've got to say, just tell me."  Still, there was no answer.  The brunette rolled her eyes, exasperated.  "If you don't tell me, I'll....I'll.....I'll put a hex on your flower garden!" she exclaimed, digging for some sort of threat.  After a moment of hesitation, Jet slowly and gently placed one hand on her sister's stomach.  
  
"You've already got the family heritage taken care of, dear." she replied, smiling knowingly.  Fran stared blankly at her sister for a moment, disbelief written on her face.  
  
"Jetta, you've got to be kidding me.  We weren't even married two months!" she exclaimed, sitting up straight.  Jetta chuckled lightly.  
  
"For one thing, just because you've only been married two months doesn't mean you weren't having sex before that."  she replied bluntly.  "But, the point is, you've been pregnant nearly two weeks.  You just hadn't realized it yet." she added, smiling slightly.  Still shocked, Fran drew her knees up to her chest, hugging them against her.  Biting her lip, Jet sat up as well and snuggled close to her sister, resting her head against Fran's shoulder.  After a moment, she said hopefully, "Well, now you've got a good reason to start eating."  
  
They both laughed again.  "Come on, now."  Jet said, getting up out of the bed.  "Let's go get some sugar for that tea."   



End file.
